Truth, Lies and Blackmail
by silverducks
Summary: Mary/Matthew focused. Will the truth finally be revealed? And what more lies will be told in the process? My interpretation of a few scenes from the series 2, episode 6 preview. Does contain series 2 spoilers, but none from outside the show itself.
1. Chapter 1

_This is a story based on my interpretation of some events in the series 2, episode 6 preview. It'll be a few chapters long, but I'll try to get it all posted before episode 6 actually airs. As it is based on the epiosde 6 preview, it does contain spoilers from series 2, episode 1 to 5 and the episode 6 prevew. _

_Hope you enjoy reading!_

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><p>Another laugh escaped Mary's lips as she rounded the corner of the saloon and headed towards the library, or the games room as it was now. She was becoming familiar now with the movement of the wheelchair and managed to avoid knocking Matthew's foot against the stone wall. It didn't stop Matthew from joking about it though, about how plenty of times she had banged his feet against the stonework or furniture, laughing at how it made no bother to him and how she would apologise so. His laughter filled with fake mirth, his jokes masking the tension lining his tone; hiding his bitterness and resentment behind his cheerfulness. He did that a lot lately, ever since he'd recovered enough to be moved to the Abbey, making jokes about his condition as Mary wheeled him around in his chair. She laughed along with them, her chuckles more boisterous to mask the tightness that filled her chest whenever she thought of the meaning behind the words, the reason for his jokes. It was a coping mechanism for them both and Mary knew she needed it almost as much as Matthew.<p>

The laughter quickly died in her throat though, as she saw Sir Richard coming towards them. It was not seeing him that made her almost still in her movement, but the poorly masked thunderous temper that was etched into his face. He was coming towards them from the library and Mary carefully brought the wheelchair to a stop as he reached them, trying her best to meet his dark, menacing gaze.

"Hello Richard." Her voice was cheerful, too cheerful perhaps and Mary knew her smile failed to meet her eyes.

"Good afternoon, Mary," Sir Richard replied, his eyes looking far too intently into her own, probing, and Mary found she could not hold his gaze. "Hello Captain Crawley." He nodded down at Matthew, who had grown so very still and quiet since they'd seen Sir Richard. The coldness of his address to her cousin surprised Mary and she looked up at her fiancée, a man who, for all she was going to marry, she knew so very little about. The fury in his eyes was better masked now, but Mary could still see it there, simmering beneath the surface. She felt her knuckles tighten on the handles of the wheelchair and tried to ignore the anxiety that creeped along her spine.

"I did not know we were to expect you until this evening," Mary breezed after Matthew had replied to Sir Richard's greeting, trying to keep her voice light, pleasant amidst the rising tension that seemed to sneak into and choke the air around them.

"My business today finished sooner than expected and I was able to catch an earlier train."

"Oh," Mary nodded, unable to bite back her exclamation. She recovered quickly though, as she usually did. "Well, it is certainly a nice surprise. Have the servants brought you some tea?"

"They have thank you, Mary." He paused a moment, glanced around him, down at Matthew, before fixing Mary a bright smile that made the blood in her veins run cold. "Perhaps I may have a word."

Her first, instinctive reaction was to look down at Matthew, but a moment later, when she saw the spark of anger roar in Sir Richard's eyes, she realised her mistake. A nurse, passing at just that moment, saved Mary from speaking and Sir Richard quickly acquired her help. As the nurse came up behind Mary to take hold of Matthew's chair, she was quite surprised to find her grip had tightened considerably and her knuckles were almost white. Mary quickly let go and stepped away, shocked by her own reaction and unwillingly to admit the reasons that may lie behind it; that she did not want to leave Matthew's side and speak to her future husband alone.

"Of course." With her brightest, most charming smile fixed to her face, she nodded at Carlisle and began walking towards the library. She found herself unable to stop herself looking back at Matthew and giving him a much warmer smile, a promise of return in her eyes. Matthew's own face was expressionless; the polite smile fixed on his lips discordant with the emptiness in his eyes as he looked at her and nodded. The knot in her chest grew tighter, but Mary knew it was foolish to expect anything else. Even when Matthew was laughing and joking with her, perhaps then even more so, the shadows still lined his face and the void still consumed his eyes.

She tore her gaze away and looked again at her fiancée, the smile there still fixed, though it slipped slightly when she saw that spark of rage flicker again across his face.

An odd sensation twisted her stomach as she slowly shut the door behind Sir Richard, a feeling which reminded Mary far too strongly of what she often felt after bitter spars with her sister. A feeling she found hard not to attribute to guilt. Why she should feel guilty, she was determined not to think upon as she stepped further into the cool, quiet space of the library. It seemed to be the topic that Sir Richard was fixated upon though, for he rounded on her as soon as the door clicked shut on the small, partitioned library.

"I don't want you spending any more time with him!" His voice was low, surprisingly quiet in the deathly silence that filled this vacant space, for there were no shouts or laughs coming from next door today, for the soldiers had all been taken outside on such a fine afternoon. Even in their quietness, his words still thrummed with an anger and tension that made Mary think unwittingly of a wound up toy about to snap, his words resonating with power around the small, confined space.

Mary let out a small chuckle, though it rang false even to her own ears as it echoed around the room. "I do not know what you mean."

He walked towards her then, his steps slow and measured, yet reeking of power and unspoken threats. Mary found herself instinctively stepping backwards, until she came up to a bookshelf and could move no further. Sir Richard continued to pace towards her, his eyes like the stalking tigers she'd once seen in books as a child. She had the sickening feeling she was the prey, but she held her head firm and kept her smile and feigned innocence plastered to her face.

"Don't play games with me, Lady Mary," Sir Richard finally spoke when he'd reached her, his face pushing so close to hers she could feel his breathe on her cheek. "I am no fool and do not make the mistake of thinking me one."

Mary forced down the urge to turn her face away from Sir Richard's, his breath making her skin crawl until she could stand it no longer and pushed him away completely. She was not going to let him intimidate her like this though, or at least she was not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that it was working. She brushed down her skirts almost idly as she looked at him, not bothering any more to keep her smile fixed on her face. She wondered if this was the real Carlisle, the real face of the man she was to marry, or if his current actions were merely accentuated by the rage and jealousy that currently simmered within him. Oh how times had changed, even Sir Anthony would have been better than this!

When she finally spoke, she was pleased her voice was calm, her tone dry and indifferent, "I would never assume you a fool, Richard, for how could I marry a fool!"

"Then you should heed my words and not attempt to trick me."

Mary was relieved when he at least kept his distance this time, though the rage and jealousy simmering in his eyes remained and it was only her years of practice of wearing a mask that allowed her to stand tall and look him directly in the eye. "I am not aware that I am trying to trick you, nor do I understand the logic within your words."

"Then you _must_ think me a fool, if you do not believe I am aware of the attentions you show towards _Captain_ Crawley."

He still made no more move towards her, but his hands clenched threateningly by his side and Mary found it impossible not to glance down at them. Instead, she drew herself up taller and held his thunderous eyes defiantly. She may have known all along what he was implying, but she was not going to play his games any more than he was willing to play hers. "Captain Crawley is my cousin and has been injured fighting for our king and country." She paused for a moment, letting her words sink in and hiding her own flicker of triumph as Sir Richard flinched slightly under her accusation. "He is in need of care and company and since the nurses are far too preoccupied helping all the other injured soldiers, I see no cause for concern as to why it should fall upon me, the oldest of his cousins, to help."

"And you think I am not aware of the history between you two?" He took another threatening step towards her, making his intentions perfectly clear. "Do you think I am such a fool as to not see that your care goes beyond those expected of a mere cousin? Do you think I am blind to the way you look at him, the way you talk and laugh with him? That I am willing to abide my fiancée spending time with the man she is clearly still in love with?"

It took every ounce of Mary's strength to not let her mask collapse at his words. She was not sure which was more shocking, that Sir Richard would speak so, or that he had discovered so, but Mary knew it did not matter and she quickly regained her power over words, "I am wrong in my estimation of you, Sir Richard, for if you believe your words to be true, you must clearly be a fool." She turned away from him, as much to show this conversation was at an end as to ensure he did not see the truth behind the lies she had uttered. She had almost reached the door when his parting words caused her movements to still and her heart to jump in her throat.

"Do not think you can lie to me, Mary, for you do not want to test my patience." When Mary had turned around to face him fully, he continued, his voice once again calm, measured, but full of all the threat of a gathering storm, "You must not forget you are in my debt, and I _will_ see you pay if you disobey me."

"And, pray tell, Sir Richard, what is it you expect me to do? Captain Crawley is my cousin. He lives currently under my roof and requires my help. He is also still engaged to another woman as I am engaged to you."

"I expect you to remember your position and that you _are_ engaged to _me_. I expect you to behave as the great and haughty _Lady_ you are, and to _stop_ insulting my intelligence by playing nurse maid to man you are still in love with." His voice started out relatively calm, but the anger and rage slowly began to creep into his words, into his posture, his hands clenching and his feet bringing him all the more closer to her.

Mary refused to step back this time, instead looking him directly in the eye as she replied, "Then you need have no fear, for I am well aware of how to conduct and govern my behaviour and will give you no reason to think otherwise. However, Matthew is my cousin and I will not see your jealousy prevent me from giving him the help he clearly needs."

Before he could utter another word, she opened the library door and began to walk away, almost tripping over the wheelchair, which in her haste had escaped her notice. Regaining her balance, she glanced up and straight into the cold, emotionless eyes of Matthew. She quickly glanced away, looking around, but the nurse was no where in sight. Mary could only surmise that she had been called away on another duty and had pushed Matthew against the door, out of the way; just left him there, right outside the library door. She noticed then that his fingers were gripping the arms of his chair tightly and his face seemed harder than usual, his eyes more deliberately empty. It suddenly occurred to her in a rush of panic, that Matthew had most likely heard every single word spoken between her and Sir Richard Carlisle.


	2. Chapter 2

_Not quite the chapter a day I intended, but this chapter ended up being one of the hardest ones I've written! I hope it works ok and hopefully I'll still have time to get the rest of the chaptes written before the next episode airs on Sunday._

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><p>It was only a moment after Mary had left the library that she noticed Sir Richard leaving behind her. His polite smile, twisting into a grim scowl as he saw Matthew outside and Mary by his side, was enough to spur her into immediate action. She knew she would no doubt regret it later, but at that moment the decision to further enrage her future husband or to find out just what Matthew had heard was not a difficult one to make. She stepped behind Matthew's chair and took hold of the handles. Fixing her most dazzling and charming smile to her face once more, she breezed, "Now then, Matthew, let's take you outside before the sun has quite set, for we do not know how many more sunny days we shall have this week."<p>

She pushed Matthew forwards, pleased that he made no protest, and only turned back when she neared the front door. Ignoring the thunderous expression lining her fiancée's face, she said cheerfully, "I assume you don't mind, Richard. We will be back soon, though you are of course more than welcome to join us."

He held her gaze for several moments, his own hard and penetrating, a definite warning. Mary managed not to flinch, keeping her fake smile and innocent expression in tact and a moment later his own turned into one of polite cordiality. "No, thank you, _Lady_ Mary. I will wait in the library and continue reading, if that is _acceptable_."

Ignoring the mocking, cold edge creeping into his voice, Mary continued forwards once more, only turning her head to respond, "But of course, _Sir_ Richard."

Matthew remained silent throughout this exchange and his gaze seemed fixed steadfastly ahead. No comment or joke was uttered when Mary accidentally misjudged the ramp over the front doorstep and Matthew lurched forward in his chair. Only a quick apology escaped her own lips before they remained closed once more, though so many words and questions she longed to say slipped through her mind.

The sunshine was far too bright when Mary stepped outside and she paused for a moment, blinking as her eyes accustomed themselves, before she glanced around her at the rich green manicured lawns. Over in one area, the shouts of a few nearly recovered soldiers could be heard as they bickered genially over a game of cricket. Mary knew better than to take them over there, for just the other day Matthew had insisted on watching a game. He'd seemed cheerful enough at first, but his chatter had soon grown sporadic and his expression gradually soured. The worst was when the ball had rolled and hit the wheels of his chair and Matthew's anxious attempts had failed to retrieve it. Mary had leant over and picked up the ball instead, handing it to him. He'd remained silent, turning it over in his hands, too many emotions flickering over his face for Mary to even begin to comprehend. Finally, he'd thrown the ball back at the watching players, one with their arm in a sling, one a patch over his eye, though he still caught the ball easily. It was a fast ball too, hard, the aim true, direct, the arc of the throwers arm perfectly curved and well practiced. He didn't speak for a while after that, his eyes looking bitterly into the distance, no longer focused on the game and Mary had taken him inside soon after. No, she would not take him over there, nor towards the other crowd of soldiers laughing and playing croquet nearby, or those sat around playing cards on the rickety, rarely used outdoor tables. Instead her eye caught the bench, the one perched near the giant Cedar tree, still draped in the low autumn sunshine. She headed there immediately, pushing the wheelchair firmly across the gravel path, used to the pebbles shifting under the wheels by now.

It was strange really, how simple, innocent, the bench sitting by the tree looked, yet it had witnessed so many shared moments between her and Matthew, from their friendly chatter to their fierce arguments and their final break up. It seemed almost fitting that it would witness this moment between them too, when Mary knew things would change forever between them. She kept her pace strong, determined, her steps almost as fast as her pounding heart, though she longed for the journey to last a lifetime, for them to never reach their destination and face what awaited them there. She avoided Matthew's eye as she brought the wheelchair around to face the bench, making sure the wheels were secure and positioned where the warm sun reached between the thick branches. Taking time to straighten her own skirts, she sat on the warm bench, hands folded neatly in her lap, and smiled kindly at Matthew. She watched his face, but could not quite meet his gaze, which was still looking distantly out across the gardens.

She waited for him to speak first, not quite daring to speak herself for fear of what she may say. She could not even begin to imagine what Matthew may have heard and what he may think and she did not want to push, or give away more than he may be willing to know.

Eventually, Matthew turned towards her and spoke, his voice surprisingly light, though there was little to hide the weight behind his tone. "I hope I am not causing any trouble for you, Mary. You really do not need to sit with me."

"Nonsense," Mary quickly replied, her voice sounding far too cheerful, "you can't sit inside on such a lovely day. Besides, what sort of cousin would I be if I left you out here to wallow in your pity?" She gave a small laugh, but Matthew's eyes only clouded further.

"Mary…" He shook his head slightly, before looking at her anxiously. "I do not want to take you away from Sir Richard." He paused for a moment, looking down, before raising his eyes once more to hers. "I'm afraid… outside the library… I couldn't help but hear."

Mary nodded, forcing her smile to widen encouragingly, though her heart was twisting painfully in her chest, wondering what he would say, what he may ask…

"You do not have to keep looking after me you know, especially if it is upsetting your fiancée."

Mary just chuckled lightly before responding, her voice full of fake cheer. "He is a grown man, Matthew. If my nursing upsets him, it is his own business." She reached over and took his hand lightly, giving it an affectionate, reassuring squeeze, before sitting back and smiling brightly.

Shuffling uncomfortably in his wheelchair, Matthew glanced at her, searching, before staring back out to the distant trees scattered across the grounds. He looked towards her once more, before he spoke again. "Do you… I know it is none of my business, but have you any reason to worry… about marrying him?" He looked at her earnestly for a moment, before smiling and saying lightly, "I did after all promise to deal with him if he should hurt you in any way." His smile broadened, though it only made the fake mirth more apparent as he looked down at his wheelchair. "Though I'm not quite sure what I can do considering my current predicament."

Mary smiled politely at his joke, but when he then looked at her, his face serious once more, she felt her fingers knot awkwardly together in her lap. It took her a few moments to think of a suitable reply, and even then her words were weak, feeble, though her voice still strong. "Well, one doesn't become a self made newspaper owner without being a bit ruthless." Her chuckle did little to lift the searching, concerned look on Matthew's face, so she continued speaking, her tone more serious now. At least he had not seen, only heard, the way Sir Richard had threatened her. "I am sure his long journey here from London merely left him out of sorts…" She smiled again, as much convincing herself of the words as Matthew. For that was surely it, she had nothing more to fear from her fiancée. He was tired and perhaps a little jealous and he did actually have good reasons to be. She tried to brighten her smile, pleased when he returned it, albeit weakly, but her own slipped a moment later and Matthew's face once more grew concerned.

"Does he… perhaps… it's silly I know… but does he have some sort of hold upon you?" When Mary's smile slipped further and her fingers wrung tighter together, he looked at her, his expression troubled and edged with guilt. "Only I could not help but hear a mention of you being in his debt..."

He glanced away, back into the distance, and Mary realised he was giving her chance to escape, to lie, or at least hide the truth. Yet Mary, suddenly, wanted nothing more than to tell him. For so many years it had weighed so heavily in her heart, filling her with regrets about what she had done and what havoc it had caused, especially in regards to Matthew. The chance to finally reveal all lay in front of her now and before she had quite realised it, she was taking it. "Yes… Yes he does. He knows a secret about me, a secret from my past." She dropped her eyes for a moment, unable to look at him as he suddenly glanced towards her, surprised at the honesty and heaviness in her tone.

As the silence lingered between them, his eyes continued to hold hers, probing, yet she knew he would not force the truth from her. She could lie, make up some silly story which Matthew may not believe, but she knew would not question. She could avoid answering, smile sweetly and say it was nothing, but she did not want to, she no longer wanted to hold this secret from him. It had caused so much pain, so much damage to their relationship and Matthew did not even realise…

She knew now was not the time to burden him, not when Matthew was still trying to heal; emotionally and physically. Yet that was perhaps why it was suddenly so simple, when Matthew would have other things to think upon. Her fingers clenched tightly in her dress, her heart beat sped up, but she knew her decision now, knew the courage had finally found her when it no longer mattered. For what would Matthew knowing now cost her? What did it matter if her heart should only break when she saw the disappointment and disgust in his eyes her truth would unleash? He was already lost to her, her heart had already shattered so many times for him over the last few years. Besides, she had the foreboding sense that her scandal and shame would become known soon enough and she would much rather he hear the truth from her own lips.

She couldn't hold his eyes though, as she spoke, her voice surprisingly strong, calm, despite the turmoil inside. "Do you remember Kamal Pamuk, the Turkish gentleman?"

Matthew blinked, surprised for a moment, "Yes, I think so." Looking at her more intently now as memories returned, he continued, "The man who died in the Abbey?"

Mary nodded, looked down, had to quickly bite her lip to hold back a sudden well of tears threatening to fall. She took a few steadying breathes, feeling her courage start to wane. Before she lost her nerve, she blurted out, her words tripping over themselves in their hurry, "He died in my bed."

A deafening silence seemed to fill the quiet solitude of the late afternoon, the sun itself seem to fade slightly as a cool wind rose and ripped into her arms. She kept her head down, unable to look, not daring to see the expression, the possible disgust, horror, disappointment on his face. Her heart was pounding in her throat, making it impossible to speak even if she could find any words. The silence stretched on, broken only by the distant sounds of laughter from the soldiers and the rustling of the wind as it flittered through the great branches of the Cedar tree. When the creak of Matthew's wheelchair suddenly rang within the air, Mary found her anxiety finally snapping. She looked up, straight into his eyes and almost instantly Matthew's face calmed, schooled carefully into a look of perplexity and politeness, though his hands were gripping the arms of his chair so tightly she feared the wood would snap. What his expression had read moments before, Mary could not tell, but she felt the tightening in her heart all the same, felt her stomach lurch and her blood run cold.

She somehow found the strength to look at him, though his gaze was once more unfocused, distant, his simple expression slipping and flickering through unreadable emotions. When he did speak, just the sound of his voice was enough to ease the tension she had not realised had gripped her so, though the question he asked surprised her. "But I thought… Wasn't his body found in his own room?"

Mary nodded, it was all she was capable of doing for a time, before the power of speech once more blessed her and she answered his questioning gaze. "Mama and Anna helped me carry him to his room." She looked down again, feeling all the more ashamed for this, for covering up his death and she hoped vehemently that he would probe that particular detail no more.

Matthew's only answer for a while was an unconscious nod, as he continued to gaze into the distance, at the sun falling lower in the sky and the shadows lengthening around them. She watched his face, but could no more comprehend his thoughts than she could unravel the twists and turns of the complex universe around her. She wanted to speak, to pour out all the details, all the events leading up to that fateful encounter. Wanted to make him understand that she was no harlot or slut, as her sister had once so cruelly called her. Yet she held her tongue, for what right did she have to claim forgiveness, to plead her case when she was guilty? Instead she waited; waited for him to speak, forgive, condemn, question. She forced her hands to still, her breathing to slow and her heart rate to soothe.

"And were you and him… when he died?" He swallowed stiffly, suppressing a look of disgust.

"Yes." There was nothing more to be said, for that was the truth of it, her shame. She thought her heart would shatter as she saw the disgust once more flicker across his face, but it held firm, strong in her conviction of her guilt, her punishment.

"And did you invite him?" His voice was growing harder now, thrumming with tension, his face once more turning towards her as he spoke.

"No." For that was the truth, too.

"Then did he… force himself…?"

"No." Mary interrupted him quickly, for she could not allow Matthew to think her irreproachable. When he looked at her sharply, she quickly continued, "When he came to my room, I did tell him to leave, but, when he did not..." Her voice faltered momentarily, but she forced herself to raise her head and meet his eyes. "I took little convincing to allow him to stay. I was weak and I was wrong."

"So he took advantage of you?" The questioning, almost redeeming tone in Matthew's voice caused her heart to twist painfully. She did not deserve his forgiveness, his clemency, nor his pity. She had done wrong that night. Yet she did not respond to his question, for it was one she did not dare answer herself. And what did it matter anyway? The instigator had been dealt his own punishment, one far greater than any sentence she had been given.

"Was he… your only…" He swallowed nervously again, though his face otherwise remained impassive.

A sharp stab of annoyance swept through Mary at his implication, though she was not sure whether it was aimed at herself or Matthew. Could he really think so lowly of her? Were her usual actions and conduct so uncouth that he would believe her so capable? But then, considering the news she had just imparted, was it surprising he should ask such a thing? She bit back her anger and replied in the same resolute tone as before, "Yes."

Once more he turned away, silence descending for several moments before he spoke again, "And Sir Richard is… _blackmailing_ you with this information?"

Mary couldn't stop her grimace at the use of that word, for it implied such misconduct and guilt on the side of both parties. "He is preventing this information from entering the newspapers, resulting in me owing him a great debt."

Matthew's face hardened, but Mary was relieved when he asked for no more information, especially as to how Sir Richard had come to know of such a personal matter. Even though she had her suspicions, that was not a question she could answer and she loathed to tell him that it most likely resulted from the fierce resentment her sister once held for her.

The silence stretched once more, Matthew's face growing harder, his knuckles digging into the chair whiter and she wondered if, had he the power to move freely, he would have even remained. A strong weight of guilt filled her chest then, for the truth she was inflicting upon him was far from pleasant for them both. She knew not how it may twist his already frayed thoughts and pain his already fragile emotional state. Yet she did not regret telling him, even if the burden lifted from her own shoulders was selfish. He had overheard, asked and she had answered, truthfully, for she was done with playing games now.

The sun was dropping lower in the sky and Mary felt a cool chill as the late afternoon breeze picked up around them. She wondered if she should take Matthew inside now; leave him free of her suffocating company and disgrace. She was about to ask when he spoke first, looking away, with a hard, almost pained edge to his voice. "And if we… Heaven knows it's none of my business, but… If our engagement had gone ahead… were you ever planning on telling me this?" He turned to face her as he finished, his eyes searching hers, his face somewhat earnest now, though the lines tight, holding back a tension that was still simmering in the air between them.

Mary smiled brightly once more, trying to dispel the tension and give herself the courage to speak. It was easier to tell the truth when she was hiding behind feigned civility, though her words were still simple, honest. "Yes, Matthew. I wanted to tell you before I accepted you."

"And yet you did not?" His voice was colder now, his expression darkening and Mary could no longer hold his gaze as a knot of guilt struck through her heart.

"I wanted to, Matthew, but I did not know how..."

"You did not trust me." It was not a question, but the disappointment, the past regrets and pain in his voice made her heart break. The anger and disgust she thought would come once she told him of her scandal were appearing now and Mary suddenly felt so very ashamed. She opened her mouth to speak, to defend herself, to explain, but no words came, for what could she say to make things right now?

Matthew must have seen the pain and sorrow that crossed her face, for his next words were gentler and his gaze upon her felt softer too, though she could not bring herself to meet it. "A lack of trust was something we were both guilty of." He sighed then and she felt his gaze fall away, back out into the distance. She was afraid he would once more descend into silence, but a few moments later, he continued, "Was this… one of the reasons, you… delayed?"

Looking up suddenly, she caught his gaze resting once more upon her and she almost gasped at the expression she saw there. He looked suddenly so lost, melancholy, as if weighed down by a thousand painful memories. She wished she could lie to him then, reassure him that it had indeed been the only reason, but she did not want to begin lying to him now. "One of the reasons, perhaps…"

Matthew nodded, understanding dawning and he turned away again, his throat distorting as he worked hard to regain his cool composure, though his fingers were twisting together now, pulling crossly at the threads of the blanket draped across his knees. "I heard something else whilst I waited outside. Forgive me, Mary, I did not mean to listen, but… I overheard… Sir Richard accused you of something…?"

At Mary's nod, he tried to continue, but though his throat worked, no sound came out. Mary felt her own throat choke her then, her heart stop dead in her chest. There was something almost wistful in his voice, almost afraid, cautious. Mary knew what the question would be, knew the one topic they had yet to touch upon, and she did her best to prepare herself. She forced her hands still in her lap, raised herself higher in her seat and gave Matthew a soft, warm and she hoped encouraging smile. She wanted him to ask her, wanted to finally have the chance to admit what was in her heart. Perhaps, even after all she'd told him today, this was the most selfish act of hers. Perhaps the right thing to do would be to brush off his question, stand up and take him inside, chattering idly about the weather or Edith's latest plan for another concert. As the silence stretched between them, she wondered if that was also Matthew's wish, but she was selfish, then; she stayed still, kept her voice silenced and waited for him to ask.

He pulled suddenly at the thread in the rug, the snap of it breaking seemingly pushing him into action. "He said that… I know you denied it and I'm sure it's not true, but…" His voiced faltered a moment and Mary brightened her smile further, though every muscle within was winding tighter than a clock spring, waiting…

Turning towards her, he looked directly into her eye, though his gaze was distant, unfocused. "I heard him accuse you… of being… in love with me?"

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><p><em>Ok, hope that wasn't too melodramatic, OOC or painful a read! I'd just like to say though, that Mary is one of my favourite characters and I definitely intended no bashing of her here. However, whilst I do not think all the guilt and shame put upon her over Pamuk is right, I believe the character of Mary believes it is – and I was of course writing this from her point of view!<em>

_Anyway, thanks so much for reading. Hope to get the next chapter written up soon. _


	3. Chapter 3

Whilst Mary had been expecting the question, she still felt as if all the air had suddenly been sucked out of the world and left her breathless. His gaze upon her had become more focused now, watching, searching and Mary found her smile slipping. It had seemed so simple before, waiting for him to ask and knowing what her answer would be, but now… A thousand and one thoughts ran through her mind, each one chasing and contradicting the last. To tell him _this_, to admit her feelings, that would be everything, her heart laid bare before him and she would have nowhere to hide. Things would change irrevocably between them, he would never be able to look at her the same way and perhaps even this easy friendship they'd fallen into, which she treasured so dearly, would fall away too. And could she face the pity, the guilt that was sure to fill his eyes when he saw her? And was she right, to trouble him further, after all he had learnt about her so recently? Yet the answer slipped out before her thoughts had caught up with themselves, her lips parting and an almost breathless, "Yes," spilling forth before she had even realised. The sound of the word hanging between them, stunning them both.

He continued to watch her carefully, his face still cautious, his eyes still perplexed, as if he could not quite believe nor realise what her answer actually meant. She swallowed, took a deep breath, forced her smile wider, "Yes, Sir Richard did indeed accuse me of that."

Her voice faltered, her courage momentary fading. It was too easy then, too easy to spill forth lies or semi-truths, too easy to simply remain silent and not confirm his suspicions. She swallowed again, forcing her strength to return. She could not let this opportunity slip away, not now, "And he is correct." She looked down, almost losing her nerve again, before she forced her gaze to meet his, his eyes still searching, probing. Though she couldn't quite keep her smile in tact as she said, "I have never stopped loving you, Matthew."

He blinked, his eyes widened slightly and his mouth opened on a wordless expression. He continued to watch her for several moments, moments that seemed to last a lifetime and Mary was unable to look away. Then, his face suddenly hardened, his mouth twisted into a fierce line and he looked away. His hands once more reached for the arms of his wheelchair and Mary saw him gripping them tightly.

A breath she did not know she was holding suddenly forced its way from her mouth. Her heartbeat began to race and she wondered if it had actually stopped in those few moments. For then she could not feel it, but now it throbbed with a deep, brutal pain. Yet she did not regret telling him, the truth released was like a leaden weight lifted from her being. But now… now she would have to face the consequences of that truth.

And so she watched him, unable to look away as his expression changed, one moment an unreadable emotion would flicker across and the next it was firm again, as if he were fighting hard to control it. When he finally did speak, his voice was hard too, riddled with a tension akin to holding back emotion. "And now? When I'm stuck in this chair, crippled, impotent, a mere shell of a man?" He stopped, swallowed, seemed to be trying to bite back the anger and bitterness that was leaking into his words.

"On any terms, Matthew," she replied sadly, taking care to make her smile all the brighter, her eyes wide in her honesty.

"On any terms?" He asked, unsure for a moment and Mary knew he was remembering the conversation they had shared in the hospital, not long after he had arrived. Knew he realised now the deeper meaning she had held within them. His face tightened a moment later though, the bitterness returning. "Even now that I may no longer even become an earl, may never even have _that_ to offer?"

Mary couldn't stop herself from flinching at the anger in his words. He had been dealt too many cruel blows recently and last night had been yet another life changing one. The knowledge that her cousin Patrick may still be alive had sent shockwaves through the whole house and all they could do was wait as the lawyers looked into the matter. And all Matthew could do was wait yet again to see what fate would decree for his future. For whilst he had never wanted to be earl, never wanted to own the great house and the estate, she knew he had grown to favour the idea. She knew that since he was injured, his future in Downton had been a source of comfort, a reassurance to him. It was the one constant, the one thing to plan for, to live for. Yet that too had now been snatched away from him.

"It doesn't matter, Matthew." She leant over and stroked his hand gently as she said this, as much for her own comfort as his. He looked at her suddenly, surprised, the anger draining from his face and his grip relaxing slightly on the wheelchair's arm beneath her fingers, though the simmering tension remained etched into his face.

"Doesn't it, Mary?" He looked away again, took his hand out from under hers and a sad expression filled his gaze. "It always used to matter."

"Not anymore," she replied, her voice soft, gentle, though her smile slipped as a wave of guilt and regret stabbed through her. Oh, how many times she had regretted that, listening to her Aunt's words, being swayed by her own prejudices, but it was too late now, she could never go back no matter how vehemently she wished it.

"It doesn't matter now," he eventually replied, echoing her earlier words, his voice almost sad, wistful, yet edged with bitterness, regret.

Mary knew well enough he was referring to more than the entail and she looked up, surprised. She couldn't allow herself to hope, it was not a privilege she had indulged in for many years, but right at that moment, the emotions spilling into Matthew's voice gave her pause. Perhaps now, maybe, even after all that had happened… It was a chance she had to take. "I don't have to marry him, you know."

He looked at her, surprised, his expression growing soft, thoughtful as he considered her words for a brief moment. When he did reply, his voice was gentle, yet firm, decisive, "Yes, you do."

Mary nodded, forcing her smile on her face once more, brighter than ever as her heart finally shattered into pieces. So that was it, it really was that simple. He knew, she had told him all, opened her heart and he had made his decision. It was too late, had always been too late between them.

He must have sensed the sadness that filled her smile, for he continued a few moments after, almost as if apologising, "If you do not, you know what he will only print your story."

Once again Mary's smile slipped, for she knew the truth in his words and was unsure what to make of him uttering them. "I'm not sure that I care any more, Matthew."

He looked at her again, his face once more searching, and Mary wondered what more she could say, how much more she could prove. Did he still not realise how much she was willing to sacrifice for him now?

Maybe he did realise it, because he looked away a moment later, his face hard once more, his voice empty, controlled. "I can't let you do that, Mary, not for me, not like this..." His eyes once more were distant and it was a long pause before he continued, straightening in his chair and looking decisive again, yet weary too. "And I suppose I am still engaged, though I doubt Lavinia will want me any more, not once she hears about the entail."

On his last words, his voice was light, almost teasing, but Mary could hear the sadness within, the disappointment, misgivings... For a moment she wasn't sure what they could mean. Perhaps… but no. She could not afford to let her thoughts stray there. Only more heartbreak awaited and she could not do that to Lavinia. Instead she smiled brightly once more and said, almost playful. "Now, I won't allow you to wallow in your self pity again, Matthew. I'm sure Lavinia can live without being a countess." And the rest, but she didn't add that, she didn't need to.

Her words brought a small smile to Matthew's face, albeit weak, though it did not remain for long. His face grew darker again, confused, "You've been a good friend to Lavinia, Mary. Thank you."

Her smile brightened, her voice warm as she replied, "It is the least I can do." Her words were heavy with meaning, which she did not mean to impart, but she knew Matthew was not unaware of them, not now. His face was thoughtful for a few moments longer, his eyes focusing on some unseen object out across the green manicured lawn. Slowly it grew harder and Mary found herself having to avoid the urge to fidget, to speak.

The silence was growing awkward again, the tension mounting around them. Eventually he spoke, his voice heavy, "Please could you… for a while… leave me be…"

Somehow Mary managed to hold her smile, though her heart took another painful blow at his dismissal. It was only fair, of course, she'd inflicted so much painful information on him, she should be surprised he had not pushed her away sooner. The knowledge did not make the pain any easier to bear though, but she stood up quickly and her voice was feigned lightness. "Of course, I'll take you back inside."

"No!" Matthew suddenly reached up his hand to stop her. "I mean… I would like to stay out here for a while. The sun is most pleasant and no doubt we will see rain again tomorrow."

Nodding, Mary began to walk back, her back straight and her head held as high as she could manage. She had only gone a few steps past him when he called over his shoulders to her, a heavy coldness in his words. "If you could tell mother, or a nurse, to bring me inside, in about an hour?"

Pausing, Mary looked over her shoulder, but his gaze remained fixed ahead, into the distance and away from her. She tried to speak, but this final blow was too much. She turned quickly and walked back towards the house, biting her lip and holding back the tears threatening to fall. She only stopped briefly when she reached the saloon, catching Cousin Isobel and passing along Matthew's message. Her cousin's hand rested briefly on her arm for a moment, looking into Mary's face with more concern than Mary quite knew how to handle right now. She smiled, for it was always the safest thing to do, when the tears threatened and your heart was breaking inside. No one would push you when they saw you smile and so Isobel simply nodded and dropped her hand.

It was only when Mary had reached her bedroom and stepped inside, the tears starting to fall, that she remembered Sir Richard was still waiting in the library.

* * *

><p>Matthew wasn't surprised when, after what felt like about an hour, his mother's voice called his name behind him. He was glad he had a warning, for it meant he was quickly able to school his face and reply cordially enough. He wasn't sure if he was disappointed or relieved that it was not Mary who had come. Despite being left with nothing but his thoughts for company for so long, he was still not sure if he was ready to face her again.<p>

"Are you ready to go inside now, Matthew? I think a proper rest before dinner may be advisable."

"Yes, thank you, mother." He wasn't sure if he would find much rest at all at the moment, but he could hardly stay out here any longer. Now that he had been roused from his thoughts, he couldn't help but notice the chill creeping into the air as the sun was dipping into the horizon and the shadows had fallen where he was seated. He also did not want his mother to fuss, which she had taken to doing far too much lately. He was relieved when his mother said no more after that and she wheeled him into the house.

That was perhaps the worst thing at the moment, not having the freedom of movement. The doctors said in time, when he was stronger, he should be able to move the chair on his own, but they were unwilling to give him any indication of how long that would be, like so many things he was promised would happen one day. For now, he had to just rely on other people, his mother, Mary, a nurse… He hated that, hated not having the independence to come and go as a he pleased, and he hated having to ask them for help… His mother seemed to sense his darkening mood, for she did not say anything more to him, not even as she was helped to carry him upstairs by some passing nurses.

It seemed her silence was to be short lived though, for as soon as she closed the door to the room he'd been given, and which all his protests had failed to change, she began. "I saw Mary earlier, she looked upset."

Matthew knew he should not be surprised that his mother should bring up this particular topic of conversation. He did not, however, want to discuss it with her and his own thoughts were still in such a tempest of confusion that he wasn't even sure he could. He sighed a moment later, loudly in the hope his mother would sense his irritation and move on. When his deep sigh had little effect, his mother still looking at him expectantly, he answered somewhat petulantly, "I'm sure it's none of our business, mother."

"But wasn't she talking to you just before she came in?"

Matthew sighed again, but he knew it would do no good now. His mother was watching him carefully and he knew that look of determination in her eyes only too well. She would not let the matter drop until she was satisfied and besides, he regrettably needed her help and he wasn't sure how much he could take of her glaring at him. He sighed again, fidgeted nervously, not sure where to even begin, his thoughts were still so confused... "She told me some things… I… I don't think I took them very well."

"Did she tell you she's still in love with you?" His mother's voice was calm, matter of fact, as if they may as well be talking about the weather. She twisted his chair around once they reached the bed and between them he was lifted onto it and helped to lie down. The doctors promised that one day he would even be able to move himself around somewhat, would not require so much help, but whenever he asked when, the answer was the same as ever; _soon_, _when you're healthy enough_, _you need to build your strength_.

It was the shock of his surprise, not the movement from the chair, that caused him to delay answering. The directness of his mother's question didn't phase him, but he wondered _how_ she should know, for he was sure Mary would not confide in her. He didn't dare ask for fear of what he may find.

"Yes, she did." He answered eventually, as his mother helped remove his shoes and pulled the blanket over him. He found himself surprisingly weary then, in need of the rest his mother was insisting on, though he doubted it was merely due to his recovery and injuries.

"Good," his mother answered, stepping back and stowing his wheelchair safely in the corner. "And what is it you are going to do about it, Matthew?"

"Do? What can I do!" He said with more indignation than he intended. "Mary is already engaged! And so am I, I suppose, though Lavinia is better off without me."

Isobel shook her head at his obvious self pity and stubbornness. She tried to speak, to argue, but stopped herself. It would do no good now; Matthew seemed to have made up his mind on that score. There was something else in his voice too, something that gave her pause, as if he wanted to think the worst, to believe, perhaps hope, his engagement was over. Still, she did owe him the truth, at least. Her expression turned pensive, anxious, her voice dropping, softening. "I had a letter from her the other day." She held her hand up to stop Matthew from speaking, "She begged me not to say anything, but, I think it is in your best interest to know."

She sighed, finding all her words before she continued. "She asked me if I could speak to you, try to convince you to let her return... She misses you, Matthew, she wants to be here, with you, no matter the circumstances, but she doesn't want to hurt you. She's worried that her presence pains you..." She watched Matthew's face carefully, saw the confusion and anxiety fill his face, saw the struggles and bitterness as he took in her words. "She loves you, Matthew, and she still wants to marry you, no matter what."

Matthew looked away at his mother's final words. He was sick of being told that, of people saying it did not matter, his injuries, the limited, dependent and abstinent life he would have to live. He couldn't push that on any one, not Mary, not Lavinia. Not now that his whole entire future was so precarious. "I doubt that will be enough, when Lavinia hears I'm no longer the heir!"

It was a cruel shot, born out of pity and resentment, not any ill feelings towards his fiancée, and he deserved his mother's reprimanding look and curt reply, "You don't know that for certain, Matthew! That is something you must allow Lavinia to decide!"

She began to walk towards the door, leaving her son to wallow in his pity, for time had always taught her that Matthew was often best left alone when he suffered from these dark, sulky moods. She paused at the door though, turning around for one last try. She tried to keep her face soft, gentle, but her own patience was wearing too thin, the strain of Matthew's injuries affecting herself far more than she cared to admit. Her voice, then, was far harsher than she intended, but perhaps the message may sink in deeper. "Matthew! No matter how you push us away, we will not let you sit around and feel sorry for yourself!" She shook her head, pausing, trying to reign in her annoyance. He had at least turned towards her now, though his face was growing fiercer at her words and his hand were tightening on the blanket.

She knew this was difficult for him, could not even begin to imagine what he must be thinking right now, but she had to _try_. "You have two very beautiful, intelligent and frankly very special women who are in love with you enough to marry you, on any terms!" She sighed inwardly in frustration as Matthew looked away, his face growing hard as he tried to ignore her words. "Matthew! It's not a case of whether you will marry! It's a case of which of the two women you _want_ to marry!"

She turned back towards the door, opening it before she said anything else in her barely contained temper. Before she closed it again, she did look turn round once more and said, forcing her voice calmer, "Now, get some rest and I will come and wake you in time for dinner." With that she shut the door, not sure if the lack of answer on her son's part was a good sign, or not.

* * *

><p><em>Okay, hope this chapter wasn't too awful! My muse doesn't seem to be taking very well to writing fast! But I'm determined to write as much as I can before the next episode of Downton Abbey! So apologies for this rushed attempt – I hoped you enjoyed it nonetheless. There's about one or two chapters still to go – dependent on how much I'm able to stop my muse from waffling!<em>

_Thanks for reading!_

_Oh and for disclaimer reasons, all the words are my own (though the characters obviously are not), except for two lines from the episode 6 preview - "I don't have to marry him, you know" and "Yes, you do." - The words that sparked off this whole entire fic!  
><em>


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N - Phew, just about managed to get this done in time for tonight's episode. Please excuse the very rushed and waffly nature of this chapter, I really just didn't have the time to polish it, so it's even worse than my stories usually are! That being said, I hope you enjoy reading nonetheless._

_If you happen to be reading this after the episode, please bear in mind that this was written before watching episode 6 and based entirely off my own ideas from the episode 6 preview. _

_Oh and thanks everyone for your kind reviews. They've been so encouraging and have really helped my muse get this story finished!_

_So here it is - the last chapter of my story._

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><p>Rest did not come easy to Matthew; his mother's words were echoing around his thoughts and preventing him from sleeping. She made it all sound so simple, so black and white, as if his injuries didn't change anything, as if his uncertain future as earl did not matter. But then, perhaps it <em>was<em> that simple, if they were willing to marry him, even like this, then perhaps it was simply a question of his own choice. And that, too, was simple enough, clear, for there was little choice involved. Mary was engaged to Sir Richard, he was engaged to Lavinia and nothing else mattered. And yet… Every time his thoughts turned this way, Mary's voice would sound in his mind, he'd see her face looking at him so earnestly, telling him she still loved him. He had not expected that, could hardly even believe the words when he'd overheard them, yet Mary had confirmed them and now….

He never thought he'd ever hear those words from Mary, he hadn't before and now, over 4 years later, she was finally saying them? He did not know what to think, had not thought upon it for so long. Had not _let_ himself think upon it. Not since the garden party, when he'd walked away, hurt and betrayed by her lack of regard. Then war had been announced, he'd signed up and the whirlwind called life had taken over. He didn't have time to think, to remember, to regret; remembering those days at Downton was a luxury he could not afford. Then he'd met Lavinia; sweet, kind, gentle Lavinia. He had no reason to doubt her regard and the thought of her had been a comfort whilst he had been away at war, her letters a delight and his visits something to look forward. It had been simple with Lavinia; he always knew where he stood, not like with Mary; a puzzle he'd never quite been able to figure out. He was glad that they were friends, he could admit to that, glad that they'd built their bridges and righted past wrongs between them. That was how things would, _should_ have stayed, but now… He did not regret Mary telling him, and it had been accidental he'd even overheard, but now… He did not know what to think, did not want to let those past memories, regrets, feelings, take control again. He thought they'd all gone, not just buried, but dead, no more. He had moved on, he was with Lavinia now, and yet…

No, it did not matter and even now, part of him could not accept her words, could simply not believe that she loved him, still loved him, even now, had loved him even _then. _Yet whilst he sought to find evidence against her, things only fell more clearly into place. He'd never allowed himself to question their friendship before, once he'd first returned to Downton after joining the army; how she was so pleasant, kind towards him, so welcoming to his fiancée and how she had helped nurse him when he returned injured, wearing her apron, wheeling him about and keeping him company...

No, he supposed he could not doubt the sincerity of her words, not now, but he did not let himself think upon them for long, for that was far too troubling. She loved him and he would, _had_, only hurt her, caused her pain. It had been unintentional, but the guilt remained, especially when he knew he would only cause her more. For he could not marry her, even if he wanted to. Her fiancée was blackmailing her and he could not let her risk that for him. For it wasn't just Mary who would be hurt, but the whole family. He did not know if he would ever be able to bear looking in Lord Grantham's eyes again, knowing it was he who was responsible for her secret becoming known. Her secret... Yet one more thing he was trying to push away from his thoughts. She'd been with another man, had covered up his death, had involved her mother and her maid… The added knowledge that this had been a reason for her delay only brought another wave of pain and regret. He pushed it back. There was no use in thinking of what might have been. No use wondering whether if he, perhaps, had been more understanding, less forceful and impatience, she may have told him, then… And even if she had, what then? Would he have been able to marry her still, knowing this? At least that was a question he could answer, for whilst he would have been disappointed, it would not have stopped him from marrying her, for he'd loved her enough, _then_. Now… Well the secret seemed of little consequence any more, to him at least, not after all that had happened to him, to them, not after the war, after everything else had changed. No, her secret did not matter to him, did not affect his feelings for her, whatever they may be…

It didn't matter anymore anyway. He couldn't marry Mary, for even without her secret, he was engaged. He'd pushed Lavinia away, because of his injuries, because of his own self pity, made her return to London because he couldn't force this life upon her. A life that had been forced upon him and he must bear alone. Yet she had not given up on him, according to his mother she still wanted to marry him and he knew, if he were honest with himself on this at least, that the entail would probably not change her mind either. So _if_ he was to marry anyone, if he was willing to inflict _this_ on someone, he must marry her, it was that simple. He could hardly marry another when he'd been the one to push Lavinia away, when she had committed to him, stood by him when he'd first arrived, was willing to marry him despite everything… No. That would be wrong, dishonourable and he could not hurt her like that. He must still marry Lavinia. And he loved her, he knew that much. She'd been such a constant, such a hope, a joy to keep him going through the war. Yes, he loved her and would marry her, _wanted_ to marry her. And yet… Mary's face filled his vision again and he screwed his eyes tightly shut, willing it away. It did not matter anymore, it was too late for him and Mary, if they'd ever even had a chance. It did not matter anymore. And yet…

His thoughts would not leave him alone, circling round and round, each one contradicting the next, just like they had when he'd sat outside, watching the shadows lengthen and the wind scatter the few fallen leaves around the grounds. Try as he might, he could not will his thoughts into silence, could not force them down with the words he kept on repeating. He was not used to this inactivity, of having nothing else to distract him, nothing else to occupy his time and push away his thoughts. He was used to being out there, fighting, planning, keeping his own and his men's spirits alive. He was used to the continual sound of gunfire, of shells exploding and screaming men. Here it was too quiet; there was no noise to drown out his thoughts. Here there was nothing to do but sit and think. It had been easier when he'd been on leave. It was always for such a short time and there was so much to fit in before he returned. Now… Now there was little he could do, even if he wanted to, stuck in this bed or in that blasted chair, nothing to take his mind off his melancholy thoughts. And he had thought a lot, since he'd returned, about his future, his injuries, about the war. Now his thoughts were turning towards Mary, Lavinia, and he did not want that. Did not want to think any more about what ifs. It did not matter, the choice was simple, for there was no choice, not really.

He turned his face away and saw the dog she'd given him, sat on his bedside cabinet, though he wasn't quite sure why, why he even still had it with him. Something had always stopped him as he left each time to fight. Something had made him pick it up, cradle it momentarily in his hands before shoving it in his pocket. He'd never bothered to question it before, had never allowed himself the luxury, it was just a symbol of good luck, nothing more. Yet it was _hers_, _she_ had given it to him and he had kept it with him, all those years… And here it was, sitting there with barely a scratch, just as she had asked. He smiled then, strangely enough, thinking of the joke he must make when he returned it to her, just as promised. And he would return it to her, he had to, for it did not matter anymore, it was no longer right for him to keep it.

Still his thoughts would still not settle and when his mother returned, he was incredibly relieved to have company and action once more. His mother spoke no more of their previous conversation as she helped him get ready for dinner and he was finally able, at least momentarily, to push his thoughts away, forcing himself to remember that Mary must marry Sir Richard and he must marry Lavinia. Though why he picked up that little dog and tucked it into his pocket as his mother wheeled him out, he did not dare to think upon, for it did not matter, not any more.

* * *

><p>It was a useful skill of Mary's, being accustomed to awkward dinner parties, one she'd learnt through much practice and it was tested to its limits tonight. The only way Mary could think of making this particular dinner party more awkward was if her Aunt Rosamund had been here. For she was never one to keep her opinion to her self and there were far too many opinions being thrown around the table as it was. Cousin Isobel and her mother were once again discussing, the only polite word Mary could think of to describe it, the running of the hospital and convalescence home at the Abbey. Edith was trying to stir up interest in another concert and Sybil was trying to change the topic of conversation to the events in Russia and the rumours of the war nearing its end. Her grandmother was dropping in her opinion on all these matters whenever she deemed it worthy, which was as frequently as ever, and her father was trying his uppermost to juggle and manage all these different topics and try to keep the peace.<p>

Mary, for her part, smiled and laughed, rolled her eyes and spoke when necessarily, long since versed in the art of maintaining appearances, but her thoughts were far away and her attention very much diverted. For one thing, she had to struggle to avoid catching Sir Richard's menacing, threatening gaze. She'd managed to avoid speaking to him so far, occupying Sybil before dinner and she planned to do the same in the drawing room later. She did not know how to face him at the moment, did not want to explain why she had not returned to the library this afternoon. Her tears had fallen fast once they'd started and she had been in no state to entertain her future husband, but she could hardly tell that to Sir Richard. And so she avoided his heavy gaze as much as she was politely able, but his own did not leave hers. He was watching her; her every word, expression and glance all scrutinised and held as evidence to possibly use against her. Not that it mattered, his study, Mary would have avoided watching Matthew regardless, avoided catching his eyes for she did not think she could bear what may lie within them. And Matthew was avoiding looking at her, too, his gaze and attention determinedly focused elsewhere. Not that his somewhat vacant expression and lack of conversation was unusual. In fact Mary could at least be content that no one else seemed to be paying enough attention to notice the tension simmering between her, Matthew and Sir Richard. Perhaps awkward dinner parties were not quite so without their virtues after all, or maybe she had simply underestimated even her own skills at dealing with them.

Yes, it was indeed a very useful skill and one she happily extended to the drawing room after dinner. She had successfully managed to occupy all the time there with her two sisters, both seeming so desperate to talk about their particular concerns that they did not question Mary's somewhat unusual interest in what they had to say. However, as she was leaving the drawing room to retire for the night, she heard distinctive footsteps behind her. It seemed Sir Richard was not quite so easy to ignore, after all.

"Am I not to speak with you at all today, my fiancée?" His voice was perfectly civil, as he came up behind her, though Mary did not miss the underlying, threatening tone.

She paused for a moment, tempted to just continue on, but he came nearer to her, a silent threat, and Mary knew that would be too unwise. "I am sorry, Richard. My sisters would not leave me be this evening." She turned around and forced herself not to take a step back despite his nearness, instead fixing her smile to her lips. "They can be quite talkative if you give them even the slightest hint of interest." She laughed softly, but it was cut off almost immediately when Sir Richard came nearer still.

"And you rushed off so this afternoon, I barely saw you." His voice was still cordial, but Mary was not fooled, for the eyes that had been watching her all evening were piercing into hers now, the anger and frustration simmering there, a definite warning. Mary did step back, then, unable to quite fully stand against his barely concealed rage.

"I am sorry, Richard, but I was tired. I needed to rest before dinner. You know how weak we females can be." She smiled innocently, hoping, more than expecting, him to accept her explanation.

"And yet you still found the time to sit with your cousin."

"I could hardly leave him on his own, Sir Richard! I would not wish that upon any of the soldiers here, least of all my cousin."

"Your sudden interest in nursing is most astounding, Mary. Especially after I made such an effort to arrive here early today, in the hope we could spend more time together." His voice was gradually growing colder, the tone laced with venom as he pressed himself closer towards her.

"Perhaps if you had contacted us about your change of plans, alternative arrangements could have been made." She paused, tried to find her voice again, which was growing weaker as her anxiety grew. "As it was, however, his mother and all the nurses were busy."

He stepped closer still and as Mary moved backwards she found herself prevented by the wall. She forced herself not to look furtively around, checking for any servants or members of her family. They were probably still all arguing in the drawing room and this particular stretch of corridor she knew was not widely used. Still, she was concerned that Sir Richard would think to threaten her in so public a place, worried that their being seen was only part of his plan.

"I have warned you before to not try to fool me, Mary."

The malice was clear in his voice now and unwittingly Mary shrank back further from him. "And as I have said before, Sir Richard, I have no reason to." She tried to smile, tried to move away from him, but he came nearer still, trapping her against the wall.

"You have given me the power to destroy you, and don't think I won't use it."

"I do not doubt that for a moment, Sir Richard." Her voice was weak now, her eyes furtive as a flicker of panic rushed through her. Was this really the man she was to marry? But she had no choice, not then, not now. She must marry him to keep her scandal secret. Besides, Matthew did not want her, so what did it matter, anyway. "I am well aware what you are capable of." She thought of Lavinia then, wondered at the hidden strength within the woman, when she had been made to help Sir Richard, for he was indeed no man to be trifled with.

He watched her carefully for a moment, saw the furtive, anxious look in her eyes, in her voice. He stepped back, knowing his message had been received. "Then do not try my patience, Mary. I am your fiancé and expect to be treated as such."

"I will endeavour to do nothing less," Mary replied, "goodnight, Richard." Then, whilst she still had chance and not caring at that moment how weak it appeared, she stepped away from him and quickened her pace to her room.

She was stopped in the upstairs corridor when she saw Matthew and Isobel coming towards her. They had left the drawing room before her and she had rather assumed that they would have retired now. Their journey must have been delayed, for it appeared they were only now approaching his room. Mary did not want to face Matthew then, not after her run in with Sir Richard and her strength and skill at appearing indifferent and cordial were at an all time low. They had seen her though, she could not turn her back on them now. Instead she fixed her smile once more to her face, her jaw nearly aching from how much it had been forced into this expression today. "Hello, Cousin Isobel, Cousin Matthew," her voice bright with feigned cheerfulness.

"Hello Mary," Cousin Isobel greeted her, her voice as warm and friendly as it ever was. There was something else there too, a deeper sympathy perhaps, and Mary feared for a moment that she may know her secrets. Matthew mumbled his own greeting, though it was not so warm as his mothers.

The politeness and etiquette that had been drilled into her since birth, twinned with her fierce desire to appear nonchalant, made it unable for her to retreat then and instead she was forced to think of polite conversation. It was not usually such a chore, but then so much had happened today and even her great skills had their limits. "I trust you had a pleasant evening?"

"Yes, thank you, Mary," Isobel replied, before her smile suddenly fell as she continued, "though I am sorry, but I just remembered I forget to tell one of the nurses something about a soldier." She looked anxious as she looked at Mary. "I really must go, but would you be so kind as to take Matthew to his room, I'll only be a few minutes."

Mary's smile widened further as dread filled her heart. She did not want Cousin Isobel to leave her alone with Matthew. "Of course, it won't be any trouble."

"Thank you, Mary." Isobel smiled sweetly, before turning around and walking away, her footsteps not all that fast considering how urgent her request had sounded.

Mary watched her leave a moment, before snapping to action and stepping behind Matthew. She wheeled him to his room without a word, for it was close by, but when she entered and shut the door, she was suddenly at a loss as to what to do. She had helped Matthew to bed numerous times over the months, but that was before… Now, the idea filled her heart with panic and she stood around for several moments, trying to compose herself enough to work out what to do. Isobel had said she'd only be a few minutes, but the thought of just leaving him here, in that chair, only increased her anxiety. She also knew how important it was to maintain normality, for if she could pretend things were as they ever were, maybe they may both start believing the lie.

Her bright smile never fell from her lips as she pushed Matthew towards the bed and before her confidence failed her, she moved to help him up. It was easier now anyway, his strength was growing and he could take much of his weight on his arms. Gone were the days when he needed several nurses to help him move. She stepped away once he was sitting up on the bed though; considering how things currently stood between them, she would leave his mother to continue.

"Thank you, Mary." Matthew's reply was surprisingly heavy, his voice filled with so much more than mere gratitude for her recent help.

She felt her heart stutter at the emotion in his words, at the kind, melancholy, wistful way he was looking at her. For a moment her smile faltered, her hands itching to reach out and take hold of his, to look into his eyes, lean over and perhaps even kiss him… Wondered for a moment how he might react… But then Sir Richard's words echoed in her mind, and she did not doubt for a moment he would even hesitate to bring about her ruin. And what then anyway, even if she could marry Matthew? When the scandal of her shame would plague her life and anyone associated with her, including her sisters and Matthew. Could she really do that to him? No, Matthew deserved better, had always deserved better and she forced her smile ever brighter, hoping the movement would not crack her mask too much, for she could feel the tears tickling her eyes and threatening to fall. She stepped back further, nearing the door though she made no move to leave, she would at least wait for Cousin Isobel.

Her smile seemed to cause something to crack in Matthew's expression, for he swallowed for a moment, before his eyes became hard, his lips once more drawing into a tight line. He motioned over to the small bureau in the corner of the room where a stationery set laid. "Would you be so kind as to pass me some paper, Mary. I would like to write a letter..." He swallowed a moment and Mary saw a mixture of emotions flicker across his face. Then, he continued, his voice firmer now, decisive. "To Lavinia."

"Of course," Mary nodded, before turning around quickly, blinking back the tears. She was slow to pick up the paper and pen though, slow to find a nearby tray, but when she walked back towards Matthew, her face was calm and collected once more.

He took the gifts without a word, but as Mary stepped away, he suddenly placed a hand upon her arm. She stilled instantly and when she looked down, she saw her little toy dog held out in front of her.

"Here," he answered, pushing it towards her as Mary tentatively reached out for it. "I do not need it any more and I think he misses you."

Mary looked up at his words, his voice was thick, heavy again, his words full of meaning, but his gaze was empty, deliberately distant, his smile barely reaching his lips. "I am only sorry he did not do a better job of keeping you safe." She took her little dog from him, taking care to allow no contact between them. When she looked up again, his smile was fuller.

"He kept me safe enough, Mary. Thank you. And look, he has not a scratch on him."

She turned the stuffed animal over in her hands, almost marvelling at how not even a seam or stitch had become unravelled. "Then I shall thank you, for keeping him safe from harm." She smiled again, her smile genuine for once, but sad, melancholy and her eyes began to sting. Matthew held her gaze and just for a moment, she let herself wonder, imagine, hope. Then, the door opened and Mary spun around quickly as Cousin Isobel entered.

She looked between them for a moment, her face confused, her expression thoughtful, before she spoke, "Thank you, Mary."

"It is nothing," Mary quickly replied, her voice thicker than she intended. She quickly headed towards the door, brushing past Cousin Isobel. She only paused a moment to wish them goodnight, before she shut it carefully behind her.

As the sound echoed around the room, Isobel remained silent, but then she noticed her son staring pensively at a piece of paper in front of him. He must have noticed her looking, for he suddenly glanced up. "I am writing to Lavinia. I thought I would invite her to Downton." He looked down again then, not meeting her eyes and Isobel was spared from having to pretend to smile. She should be pleased, she _was_ pleased that her son was finally writing to his fiancée, and yet… She had not been unreceptive to the tension and emotion in the air between him and Mary... She asked softly, tentatively, "Is this your decision then, you are choosing Lavinia?"

Her question hung in the air for a long time, before Matthew finally spoke, his answer surprisingly flippant, "Sometimes we don't have a choice, mother."

Isobel was stunned by the underlying bitterness in Matthew's tone and it only further reinforced her doubts. "There is always a choice, Matthew, though sometimes it is easier to pretend otherwise when we seek to choose the simpler one."

His mother's pearl of wisdom surprised Matthew and it gave him pause for a moment, but just a moment. For his mother didn't know the full truth, she did not know about Mary's secret and what would happen if she did not marry Sir Richard. "Yes mother. And I made my choice several years ago when I asked Lavinia to marry me."

Isobel simply nodded, not saying another word as she helped Matthew into his bed clothes and, at his request, she passed him the tray with the writing paper once more. As she began to leave though, she looked round and tried once more. "Matthew, please, think upon it and ensure you make the right choice."

Matthew didn't say anything as his mother shut the door behind her, just stared at the empty piece of paper in front of him. He had done enough thinking and the right choice. This _was_ the right choice, he had to believe it. He was engaged to Lavinia, he could not marry another, it would be unfair, dishonourable and he could not be the reason for the shame that would be brought down upon them all if he chose Mary.

Before he lost his nerve, he quickly scribbled across the paper, _Dear Lavinia_. He stopped, re-read the words until they blurred together in his mind, then he quickly screwed up the paper and tossed it across his room. She was more to him than that, surely. He _loved_ her, Lavinia, not Mary… didn't he? She wasn't distant, confusing, perplexing, she didn't dance around her words and take four years to admit she loved him. No, Lavinia was safe, secure and the right, the _only,_ choice. Though why, after all the truths he heard that day, this one felt the closest to a lie, he did not think upon. Instead, he quickly picked up his pen again and began writing, _Darling Lavinia…_

**THE END**

_A/N - Ok I know it's not quite the ending we all wanted, but hey, it's only supposed to cover a possible episode 6 scenario and I think we can all guess that Julian Fellowes won't get Mary and Matthew back together until at least the very end of this series! _

_I'm not sure if I will continue it though, it depends on what does happen tonight in episode 6, what's hinted about in episode 7 and how active my muse is feeling. For now, consider this story complete!_

_Thanks for reading! Oh and the line, "You have given me the power to destroy you, and don't think I won't use it." is also from the episode 6 preview. _


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